


comfort in a mug

by 8BitSkeleton



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Reader-Insert, TMA season 1, Tea, everything is soft and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BitSkeleton/pseuds/8BitSkeleton
Summary: You are a clerk at the Artefact Storage department of The Magnus Institute, tasked with observing an object of supposed otherworldly power for twenty-four hours. All it's done, though, is left you with a sleepless night and a frazzled mind. When you bump into someone in the hallways, it all comes spilling out. And the man-- he offers you a hug.(a reader self-insert fic where you hug Martin and befriend him. set in season 1, after MAG 22.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	comfort in a mug

**Author's Note:**

> let's play "how touch-starved is the author writing this?" the answer is very. 
> 
> i just wanted to write about hugging martin, man. he sounds like he would give really, really good hugs.

it has been a bad day. working at the institute is never easy. in the few months you've been here, you've gone from floating intern to low level artefact storage clerk. the climb had been unprecedented, you used to think. until artefact storage dug its claws into you and made you realize every single skeptic thought you had about the supposedly paranormal has been turned on its head.

it is not a fun job.

it’s early morning at the institute. you’ve spent a night down in storage, staring at a box which you could swear oozed darkness. a test of your wits seemed like a more fitting name for the observation you went through but, officially, the box was supposed to transform into something else in the dead of night. details were murky, with its one and only owner passing away before the institute got its hands on it.

the experience left you feeling shaken. in the end, nothing happened. nothing that you can recall, anyway. other than your frayed nerves, you have nothing to show for your night of watching. the report you typed up once you got a full floor away from you and the box was bare compared to other things you’ve handed in. still, staying up all night has you on edge. and knowing that you have another day of work in front of you is not helping. 

like every paper at the institute, it has to be typed up and printed out. it doesn’t make this the most eco-friendly place to work, just the most old-fashioned. 

it is barely seven when you finally, finally finish. papers in hand, you prepare to deliver them to the office for a final okay before it heads over to… wherever the fuck your reports go to. you’re still not clear on it, even after a month of working here.

you're not paying much attention to your path down the hallway. it's never very crowded as is and the early morning makes it less likely to be so. 

when you bump into the man, it seems to be all your fraught mind can handle. your file flies out of your hands, papers scattering around the both of you. you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. they're illogical tears, product of stress and fear but there nonetheless. you're about to cry in front of this man who— looks familiar.

this man who, you realize, has been speaking. 

"sorry, oh god, i'm so sorry—" the apologies spill from his mouth like water, abundant and unstoppable. 

"no," you start to say. "no it's—" my fault, you want to say. the words lodge in your throat, stuck beside the sob that threatens you. 

"oh god," he repeats. "please don't cry, it's alright, it's, it's, it's okay."

you know all this, but your brain still isn't getting the message. 

"i-i'm sorry. i'm sorry," you choke out, tears welling in your eyes, threatening to spill.

the man flounders, eyes widening and hands lifting. "no, it's okay," he repeats. "d'you want— could i—?" 

the way he gestures, you think he means a hug. his arms are open, outstretched and tentative, as if you'd say no.

you collapse into his wide chest, his arms enveloping you immediately. the hug is tight and warm. his jumper is soft and comforting and you feel bad as your tears soak into it but you find yourself not caring as much when he starts rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. he makes gentle noises, trying to stop your tears, but the tenderness makes it all want to escape even faster. 

sure, you've experienced niceties here at the institute but never genuine kindness like this.

as you sniffle into his shoulder, you think about this man, this near stranger. you've seen him around. you remember him from your week of library interning before, when you briefly interacted with him before he abruptly left. you'd heard he'd gone down to the archives, the one place you'd never been able to make rounds at, given that — there was no archivist at the time. and now you have a job which barely preoccupies itself with the rest of the institute. just with testing cursed items, storing them, and writing up reports about them. still, the memory nudges its way up while your cries subside.

oh, this could be— "... martin?"

"yes?" he answers, affirming that, yes, you do remember his name.

"just— remembering your name. we met once." 

“ah, yeah, we did! you’re an intern, aren't you?"

"well, was. now i'm at artefact storage."

"oh,” you can hear the wince in his voice. “i've heard a lot about it. not good things, i mean—” he seems to catch himself from saying more, cutting off before he switches gears entirely. “would you— like some tea? i can make you some tea, if you’d like.”

“sure.”

with a final squeeze, martin lets go of you. before anything else, he helps you pick up the scattered pages of your report. the thought of it makes you feel shaky again, but at least it’s a finished report, not something else to worry about. martin smiles briefly at you as he taps the papers on the ground, putting them in order before he holds a hand out for the rest. you hand over the file so that he can set it in order. when he’s done, he doesn’t hand the folder back. you wonder if he could see the distress on your face over remembering your ordeal. comparatively, it hasn’t even been the worst thing you’ve seen in storage. you’re not sure why you’re so affected but you’re grateful for him to take the burden off you, even for a second. 

you both get to your feet and he leads you down the corridor towards the small employee break area a little ways off. 

you sniffle, a bit embarrassed now that your tears have subsided. you avert his eyes, even as he speaks.

"so, early morning or late night?" 

"late night, i guess," you shrug. "artefact observation."

"ah," the noise is soft, sympathetic. "one of those nights." 

you reach the door to the break room and watch as he holds it open for you. the act is another courteous, kind gesture. it makes you feel a little more grounded. you murmur a soft thanks as you pass and he gestures for you to sit while he works with the kettle and the mugs.

"milk? sugar?" 

you give him your tea order and watch as he busies himself with it. while he works, you find yourself wondering—

"what about you?" you ask. "late night or early morning?"

the question makes him sigh, his back still to you. his shoulders slump on the exhale, looking defeated. he turns to you while the kettle boils. 

"bit of both, really." there's a look on martin's face that looks like he's considering something. his reluctance gets overruled by another emotion before he starts talking once more. "around a week ago, i had an… incident. after i went out researching."

the kettle clicks off and he turns back to the cups, pouring water into each in silence. he turns back to you, mug in each hand. you wait for him to continue.

he sets the mug in front of you then sits across from you at the round, cheap table. you clutch your mug tightly, all your worries forgotten as you pay watch him, waiting.

he finally sighs again. "a… _something_ followed me home. had me trapped in my flat for almost two weeks. after days… it left me alone and i ran here. my, my— jon, my boss, told me i could stay here. down in the archives. it's sealed so nothing can get in and i feel… safe. it's safe here, somehow. i can feel it."

martin's story leaves you surprised. he takes a sip from his tea and you remember to do the same. the drink is perfect, almost like you would have made it yourself, if only better, somehow. martin seems like a tea miracle worker. 

before you get too far down the line of amazing tea thoughts, he speaks again. 

"and it's been a week here. the archives are… surprisingly cozy. sealed rooms. the works."

you hesitate for a second, mind shifting into a different gear. "can i ask… what— what was it?"

"have you heard of—" he stops himself, looks around as if something might overhear. his voice is hushed as he leans towards you. "of jane prentiss?"

you're about to shake your head _no_ when martin wriggles his fingers, illustrating his accompanying murmur of ‘ _worms_ ’. martin shivers at his own action, full-bodied, and it clicks for you. 

"oh! oh, oh _no_ ," you say, brow furrowing with concern. "not the— the bug woman?"

at the statement, martin huffs a light laugh. you realize you like the sound. 

"i think _worm_ woman would be more fitting. on account of all the, the worms on her. it's… a lot of worms."

"hang on," something else clicks for you in that moment. "are they silvery worms? bit of black at the end?"

martin pales a little at the description. "oh, god, yes, they are. how did you know?"

"they—" it's your turn to hesitate and realize your mistake. "i've… seen them outside. there's only a few of them but i thought they were strange. sorry, i know that's not what you want to hear—"

"no, no," he assures. "no it's, it's fine. the archives are sealed. they can't get in. she can't get in. it's safe."

you nod, more as an assurance to him than agreeing with him. you've never been down to the archives but he seems sure of it and you're not about to start poking holes in his theory.

he takes another sip of his tea and you lean forward conspiratorially. "if it makes you feel any better, i think i accidentally stepped on a few of them on my way into work yesterday."

the admittance makes him splutter into his tea for a second but he thankfully doesn't spill any and instead sets his cup down to cover his mouth as he laughs, the sound of it making you smile in return. the sound peters off with a shake of his head. "you— right. right, that _does_ make me feel a bit better." 

"glad i could help," you take another sip of your tea, happy that you've made him smile after all his kindness.

he smiles up at you, a genuine, soft gesture, and it's hard not to return the smile, gentle and genuine, back.

martin's eyes drift to the right of you and you watch his smile drop. "oh, christ, is that the time?"

you look behind you at the clock on the wall. it’s almost eight. later than you realized. you look back to martin, who looks almost helpless.

"i'm sorry,” he stammers, looking down at his mug as if he can’t decide what to do with it. “i have a meeting, i—"

"leave it,” you assure him. “i've got it."

he looks distressed for a second before he looks at the clock again, seemingly realizing how late it is. the apologetic look on his face is further accented by his hurried, "alright, sorry!" 

“it’s okay!” you assure him. he does not look very assured as he stands from his chair, worry clear on his face. you give him a comforting smile. “go! you’ll be late.”

martin nods to himself. “right. right— i’m _already_ late.” he hurries to the door and you watch him as he goes. he pauses there, turns. “it’s, um—artefact storage, yeah? i’ll come by later. make up for you having to clean up my mess.”

the comment makes your smile widen. you want to argue that cleaning up is the least you can do after he's helped you but you don't want him to be even later, so you let it go. “okay. now go!”

he straightens his shoulders, smiling small as he waves to you and leaves for good. you shake your head and pick your tea back up, taking another sip. for the first time since you started here, you feel like you’ve made a friend. it’s a good feeling, a warm one. you feel at ease. happy.

until you remember that your report’s due in ten minutes. 

you scramble with the mugs and wash them quickly in the sink before picking your report back up and scurrying off in the same direction martin did. 

**Author's Note:**

> [i'm on twitter if u wanna be friends!](https://twitter.com/ncvacorps)


End file.
